Together Clinging
by Cassie Jamie
Summary: The tears had begun and he wasn't sure they would ever stop. [Delicate topic & slash, beware.]


Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: Fic where rape is discussed.  No written rape scenes, but there is direct mention to it.

Pairing: Danny/Martin

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Together Clinging

Chapter One: Resignation

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            He called in sick on Tuesday; Jack had huffed into the office with an angry expression while ranting under his breath, inaudible words of annoyance and Danny had guessed it was all directed at Martin.

            On Wednesday, he'd cancelled their date.  A date they'd had for a month, and by Friday, he still hadn't shown up for work.  He was given vacation time in place of a resignation, or so Victor Fitzgerald had informed, and no one heard from him for two weeks after.

            Taylor couldn't take it any longer, the blatant ignoring being done by his partner.

            (In every way he could.)

            Yet the one phone call that Martin decided to pick up ended in disaster; their relationship was over.  The younger man confessed he had cheated, confessed that he was transferring.  Then the line had gone dead and before rationalism could kick in, the Latino had taken off for the nearest bar to drown his broken heart in.

            The alcohol was no consolation prize and the man he found that night to fuck him had consumed far too much beer to do more than collapse on the floor.  Sighing that night, he had realized the pattern was set.

            Each night thereafter, his car would find its way to the nearest club, where he would sleep with anything provided it had two legs and was human.

            "Danny?" Vivian jarred his shoulder, "You okay?"

            "Just tired.  I stayed up far too late last night." He stretched, wincing lightly at the pull of his skin against the bruise on his belly, and looked down at the paper she had placed in front of him.

            Martin's resignation.

            "About time." He muttered.  It was quickly turned into a paper airplane and shot towards a garbage basket, only to bounce off the edge to land on the floor with a crinkled nose.

            He hadn't even bothered to read it.

            Her concern grew.  She knew he had never gone to see the other man once during the two months he'd been gone – she and Sam had been the two to go everyday, forcing food down a non-caring throat, while Jack stopped in to bring magazines and videos.

            The blonde stepped over, a tear tracking down her face, "I thought he was getting better." It was a whisper only the older woman heard.  She received a sullen nod.

            "What are you guys so upset about?  It's Martin.  We all knew that he wouldn't last here.  Now he can go back home to Daddy and be a perfect son." He spat out.

            Reasoning was yelling at him, telling him to listen to the clues.

            (Be the agent he was trained for.)

            But Johnson beat his mind to the punch, slapping a piece of paper down in front of him.  Another copy of the resignation, and this time she'd circled a sentence; bright red oval to direct his attention to the unmitigated truth.  Or what he believed to be it.  His Martin was ill.  It didn't list in easy words what, but a tone was set within the sentences and he quickly became scared.

            He ran past Jack, fumbling with keys in badly shaking hands.  The elevator seemed to take forever and he wasn't surprised that no one came after him.  After all, they hadn't hidden it from their coworkers, just kept everything to a minimum.

            Blood was cold in his veins as he drove, squelching tires from the parking garage and landed himself a parallel park job next to the doctor's office he and the other man shared.  A smiling man of macabre grace, Ryan's face fell upon seeing the agent, "Danny?  What's the matter?  Is Martin okay?  He was supposed to come in yesterday, but he never showed."

            Reality was setting in, "Can I talk to you in private?"

            With the gingerly fingers of practice, he was shoved into a chair in front of the desk.  The other beside him, waiting for what he didn't know.

            "I…Martin…" Danny was having trouble starting, fully aware that following the conversation he would be groveling on Martin's doorstep, "What does Martin have?"

            "You don't know?"

            "We haven't talked in weeks.  He told me he'd slept with someone else and we broke up and if he did this because he thinks he has to protect me from what ever this is, I want to know so I can figure out whether begging on my knees or my feet is a better option."

            Patient confidentially was a massive weight on his mind, but a legal loophole called to him and Ryan rose from his place to slip through the files on his desk.  A single piece of paper, with a pen-black signature was taped to the side; ever present reminder of fate's regard for those it loves.

            "What are you doing?" It was a nervous question.

            "Checking to see if Martin forgot to remove you from this." He held up the folder.  The computer printed lettering was marred every so often with Danny's scribbled name, indicating that he and he alone was entitled to know any medical problems associated with the younger man.

            "And?"

            "He forgot.  And damn good thing to, because after I tell you this, you are going to the apartment and you are going to hold him." It's an order and Taylor is well versed to it, "Danny, he was beaten and raped.  He's been in a lot of pain, mentally and emotionally."

            Bile rises in his throat, "What?" His heart thuds harder; his eyes screw up into his face, a tear escaping, "Ryan…" But the need began to run deep and he was gone before ever continuing his statement.

            The car was powered again.

            (Had to get home.  Had to reverse the destruction he'd made.)

            His heart had mended in the matter of seconds but it was blistering at the touch of every thought:

            _'Eight weeks alone.'_

            _'Eight weeks without anyone to help him at night.'_

            _'Gonna make everything alright.  Have to.'_

            _'He said he cheated…oh, god, he doesn't think he brought it on, does he?'_

            His thoughts train wrecked when the vehicle stopped of its own accord before the brownstone.  The drapes were closed across the windows, no light in and he was sure no lamps would be on inside.

            The stairs were taken two at a time once he found himself inside, yet the door caused him to skid to a dead halt.  Was he even welcome here any longer?  Was it right that he come to a place that he'd help perpetuate pain?

            But the barrier was opened hesitantly.

            "Hi."

            The face was thinner and arms were crossed over his chest in a self-protective hug.

            "Oh, baby." He moved forward and for a brief second, Martin let himself be held within the arms before his heart reminded him of all his decisions and he pulled back hard.

            "Go home, Danny." He started to re-enter his home, when a hand reached out to lightly grasp his arm.  He attempted to yank free, but it was half-hearted and the voice that spoke to him was soft enough to crack his resolve.

            "Martin, I'm sorry."

            They stood there for a few moments; one trying to break through the walls the other was trying hard to erect, "Your name will be dragged through the mud.  My dad will…"

            "I don't care." The free hand listed toward a cheek and the mended heart twisted; there was supposed to be a healthy soft face under his fingers, not touching sickly sunken cheeks, "Don't care about that."  He gently moved forward with the ease of a person well-versed in how to care for the damaged.

            "Want to…come in?" Fitzgerald swallowed mid-sentence.

            It was a pointless question, but if it helped to preserve some feeling of safety, then Danny was going to go along with it if it killed him, "Yes.  If it's alright."

            They entered together, the older of the two at point and settled onto the plush couch they'd bought only a bit before everything began its downward turn.  There was a lingering stale air of body odor and he could see the mess the normally-meticulous man had created.  The scruffy face with red-rimmed eyes suddenly came into focus.

            (Broken, bloody soul.)

            "I think I have…"

            "Martin." He lisped and held open his arms, remembering the perchance for simply wanting to be held.  The hold was soon filled with a trembling body, whose mind protested what was occurring.  He wanted to tell the Latino to go, to stay away because it was better like that, but the warmth of the chest was too much of what he needed, too much what he had wished for in the days prior.

            "I missed you." It came out in a half-strangled sob.  The tears had begun and he wasn't sure if they would ever stop.

            Soft kiss against his temple then, not sure he should say anything.  If he should just let it all come or if he should soothe like he wanted.

            "Will you stay tonight?" was mumbled from his shoulder, a meek voice where self-assurance had once come to blossom.

            "If you want."

            Fitzgerald moved but stopped quickly to suck in air, eyes clenching shut through a wave of nausea while his stomach rumbled in protest.  He shortly became aware of his fingers digging tight into the other's wrists, "I'm sorry."

            "It's okay.  Do you want to try to eat something?" He offered, when a knock came and the door once again opened.

            Sam and Vivian walked in, carrying two plastic bags each.  They didn't seem to notice the second man cuddling his partner close, but he realized they had when they began heating enough soup for all four, "Lunchtime." The older woman stated, while the blonde went about opening the black curtains and then the small windows.  They both stopped, though.

            Surprised.

            "What?" His voice was low so as not to wake the sleeping man.

            "He hasn't willingly gone to sleep in two weeks.  We've had to get him to take a tranquilizer just for him to nap." Samantha offered, her lips curled at the edges at the sight of her two friends.  Danny was holding his mate protectively, as if he could take the weight of the world away if just for a little while.

            A few interminable ticks of the clock later, they let themselves out and he shifted the man in his arms.  He was growing painfully uncomfortable but lacked the nerve to remove Martin from his lap.

            He settled on calling it atonement and laid back against the couch arm.


End file.
